


Permanency

by Panny



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: (Over and Over and Over Again), Canon is the Fix, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemy Lovers, F/F, First Time, Love/Hate, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panny/pseuds/Panny
Summary: “I’ve never done anything like this before,” Eve says and means it.





	Permanency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strangeallure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/gifts).



“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Eve says and means it. Her heart beats a terrified rhythm against the boundary of her rib cage as Oksana sweeps a thumb over her cheekbone and slides the pads of her fingers down the length of her jaw. Oksana is not subtle in her intent and Eve allows it – she does not flinch or pull away because she still doesn’t entirely know what she came here to do and how can she be certain that this isn’t it?

“It’s okay,” Oksana says, shifting over. A flick of tongue between her lips as she adjusts herself on the outrageously soft bed (and part of Eve is angry, in this moment, that the bed is so soft and that they’re both so comfortable when Oksana is guilty of being what she is and Eve is guilty of not despising her more for it). “I know what I’m doing.” Oksana presses her lips to Eve’s, kisses her slow and gentle and romantic and Eve almost tears up over how much it’s not at all what she expected. Over how _disappointed_ she is.

Eve pushes against Oksana’s shoulder, rolls her over. She is very aware that it only happens because Oksana lets her do it; she can feel the strength in her deceptively compact muscles, feel the moment that they tense for resistance and then relax. Eve straddles Oksana’s waist, looks down at her expectant face and is, for a moment, completely lost. She had a plan when she made the move, but from her new vantage point, she has no idea what she’s supposed to do. Then Oksana rolls her hips impatiently, jolting against Eve, and Eve leans into her mouth with bruising force.

Oksana is eager beneath her, craning her neck to push back harder, smiling against her mouth and catching the skin with her teeth in a way that almost hurts more than she enjoys it. “You’re a fast learner,” she says and there’s an edge of laughter in her voice that’s absolutely vile. So Eve kisses her again to shut her up. Oksana tangles two fists in her hair, fingers scraping against her skull, and cages Eve to her. Like Eve was ever going to let her go.

 

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Eve says and it’s a lie. Oksana has her backed up against the rough bark of a tree, knife against the skin of her throat. The pressure is a reminder, a danger that kicks her heartbeat up and makes her afraid to so much as swallow, but Oksana hasn't hurt her yet - physically, at least, not ever, not yet, not really. Eve had tried this time. She really had. She hadn’t tried hard enough. There’s a body lying next to them, just in the peripheral of Eve’s vision. Oksana, still wearing the coppery-tangy scent of death like perfume, smiles beatific and terrifying.

“It’s okay,” she says. She leans close until warm breath fans over Eve’s face, eyes flickering low and mock-coquettish. “I know what I’m doing.” When Oksana kisses her, the knife doesn’t shift even a little. Eve is held still as effectively as if the blade had run her through. She doesn’t move, but she wants to. God help her, she _wants_ to.

 

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Eve says and it’s only half true. The stone floor is hard on her knees and Oksana looms above her like Aphrodite carved out of marble. Eve suspects that Oksana is egotistical enough to not have tried anything with Eve that she doesn’t enjoy herself and is rewarded by Oksana riding her tongue like the world will end the minute she stops.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Oksana asks, breathless. Eve’s just glad that she changed the script.

 

Oksana takes them from her one by one, but never all of them at the same time. Over and over, Eve watches them die.

Bill.

(Oksana blows on the barrel of her gun like a cowboy in an old Western, playful while Bill’s body lies motionless in the road. Eve’s fingers are frozen against her face, her voice caught so high and so loud that she can’t even fit it through her throat to scream. Oksana turns, smiling and shrugging with light indifference. “Sorry, baby.”)

Elena.

(“She had good shoes,” Oksana says and it’s the closest Eve’s ever heard to an apology that she sounds like she means. Eve slaps her for it, so hard that Oksana’s head snaps back. She can see the anger brewing in Oksana’s face and fears for a moment that she’ll hit her back and mean it. When Eve walks away, Oksana just watches her, fingers against her cheek, not saying anything.)

Kenny.

(The first time is personal; Oksana’s mad at her and Kenny’s unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire. It’s the scent of the perfume that stays with her amongst the crowded little details. _La Villanelle_. Sprayed generously throughout the office so that Eve doesn’t catch the other, deeper scent until it’s too late. “I want to kill her,” she tells Elena, not for the first time, “with my bare hands.” Every time she thinks she means it.)

Frank.

(She’s thought about doing it herself – in the same way that everyone thinks about killing their boss, but not at all like that because Eve dreams in technicolour and her mind is far too practical to be vindictive in any fantastical measure. She always means what she thinks, at least a little. This, more than anything, is what makes her vomit while Oksana holds her hair back, stroking and cooing with patronizing affection.)

Carolyn.

(Oksana is bloody and bruised and victorious, even as she keeps one hand hard against her side. There is red stained between her teeth and Eve tastes the metallic-salt of it when she kisses her. She has an insane, half-hysterical moment where she wonders if the blood is even Oksana’s. It wouldn't be the first time she's ripped someone's throat out.)

Niko.

(She expects this to be the worst one and hates herself most of all because it’s not. Still, she cries and beats her fists against Oksana while Oksana holds her and presses kisses to her head. After she’s screamed herself raw, Oksana promises her that things will look better in the morning. She’s wrong.

In the morning, Niko is alive and it starts all over again.)

She never kills Eve. She keeps her promise, even if only one of them remembers it.

Eve kind of hates her for that.

 

There's a knife at her chest and a fridge at her back and Eve is so tired of it all that it feels like something's come loose within her - her tether to the present moment snapping free and leaving her floating. Oksana leans in to smell her and Eve knows what this is supposed to be, intimidation and seduction in equal measure. Bored and impatient, it's Eve who moves this time, tugging Oksana so hard by the roots of her hair that she probably tears a little out. It's wrong, she's breaking character, losing track of the plot; she doesn't care. She feels the way that Oksana startles even as she responds immediately, lips pressing back with an instinctual finesse that Eve could never mimic in a thousand lifetimes. The knife shifts just a hair, enough to scratch, but not enough to draw blood; it's a rare slip up, inexcusable within the rules defined by Oksana's egomaniacal perfectionism. Eve tries not to give her enough time to regret it, hungry beyond what she can ask for in word or action. She's rewarded by a knee sliding between her legs, the knife clattering carelessly to the floor to free up Oksana's quick hands - exploring, bold and without reserve.

Oksana smiles at her and there's something unnervingly genuine about that joy. So, Eve says: "I hate you." Just to watch that smile die.

"No you don't," Oksana says, like she'd never believe it. Eve closes her eyes and wishes she felt anything at all.

 

Eve catches Oksana’s hand as it reaches for her. She also catches the flash of hurt expression that wants to grow into something more dangerous. “Can we just talk?”

Oksana seems thrown by the question in a way that Eve has never seen her and her heart thrills at finally, finally uncovering something new. “Okay,” she says – suspicious, but yielding for the sake of curiosity, if nothing else.

Oksana lets Eve snuggle against her, stroking a hand over her hair at languid, inconsistent lengths. And they do talk, though none of it means anything. Whatever Oksana admits to, Eve already knows. Whatever Eve admits to, it won’t have any consequence tomorrow. They had been so fascinated by each other once, but now Eve feels like she really does know everything and their connection lingers as a hollow and meaningless thing. The sharp edge of excitement honed by years of discovery and betrayal has been worn away and Oksana has become the one thing that Eve never could have anticipated: dull.

And then Oksana says: “I’ve never done anything like this before.” Eve almost does cry then.

 

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Eve says and means it. Oksana’s hand is gentle on her face, though Eve knows it doesn’t have to stay that way.

“It’s okay,” Oksana says. Eve knows there’s no turning back now; Oksana will find the knife within minutes, even if she trusted (underestimated) Eve enough not to search for it in the first place. Eve knows Oksana so, so well now. She recognizes the uninhibited vulnerability in her small hesitations. She remembers how quickly those hesitations can be overturned.

“I can,” she says to both Oksana and herself when she buries the knife. God, it’s so _easy_. Nothing’s ever been easier. “I can.” She straddles Oksana in a bloody parody of their first time – the real first time – and expects to feel victorious. Maybe she even does, the horror and fury that has become her baseline concentrated to a literal knifepoint as she claims retribution. Maybe it's just curiosity satiated, satisfaction in novelty.

“I really liked you,” Oksana says and there’s none of the expected anger there. Eve feels her breath speed up to match Oksana’s gasping, waiting for the reset that she knows is coming. She pulls the knife back, only half-aware that she’s doing it, swimming in dreamlike unreal horror. Oksana yells when she does it, but that’s fine – it’s fine. It won’t matter in a minute.

Eve can’t stop herself, on panicked autopilot, from trying to save Oksana’s life. She wants that moment back. She wants to be on the bed and to let Oksana find the knife and to wait and see what she does. Better yet, she wants to be in the forest or on her knees or with her head resting on Oksana’s breastbone while they just do nothing. She’s imagined a million different ways to hurt Oksana, break her the way that she broke everything and everyone around her, but none of them ended like this.

Stepping out from the kitchen, braving Oksana’s rage and impeccable aim, only to find her _gone_ – Eve fears she may have finally done something she can’t undo.


End file.
